You Don't Want This
by SandyDee84
Summary: Sam finally has enough of Dean's attitude and makes a drastic decision - set after All Dogs go to Heaven.
1. Chapter 1

A/N - So this is my first published attempt at a Supernatural fanfic. This bunny popped into my head at work and wouldn't go away. I'm not sure how good this is, but I figured if i didn't get it up now, it would simply hang out on my hard drive. Please, no flames or nasty PMs!

A/N 2 - Set sometime after "All Dogs Go To Heaven" so spoilers for season 6

Disclaimer - I own nothing. All recognizable characters are owned by Kripke, the CW and whoever elses name is on the contract.

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"So, why are we headed to Santa Fe?" Dean asked, shooting a sideways glance at his passenger.

Sam sighed. They'd been over this already, but Dean still felt the need to ask again and again. "Crowley said the Alpha shapshifter's been spotted in that area."

"Crowley said there's an Alpha there" Dean mimicked before smacking his hand into the steering wheel. "And just like that we're headed to Santa Fe? Because Crowley thought it was a good idea?"

"Well, he's kind of calling the shots right now, Dean," Sam said, resisting the urge to rub away the rapidly forming headache. _Funny how I don't remember getting headaches before I started traveling with Dean again. Must all be part of the souls equal suffering lesson_.

"And whose fault is that, Sam? " Dean snapped before muttering, "Stupid friggin demons, stupid friggin Alphas, stupid friggin little brothers who lose their friggin souls."

Emotions or no, something snapped inside Sam. "Dean, pull over," he demanded as calmly as ever.

"Excuse me?" Dean asked, "You're not driving, Sam, if that's what this is about. I'm not going to be responsible for you running over some little old lady who got in your way."

Sam gripped the door handle tightly, "I am getting out of this car in 10 seconds, whether it's stopped or not, Dean." He began to count backwards, "10…9…8…"

"Sam, what the…" Dean looked for a spot to pull over as he saw Sam's grip tighten.

Sam yanked the handle and flung the door open just as the Impala rolled to a stop on the edge of a large meadow. He didn't have to look over to know Dean was climbing out of the car and that he was furious. Ignoring the fuming brother behind him, Sam walked towards the open field, arms outstretched, yelling, "Crowley, it's time to talk!"

He had barely reached the fence when a much-despised British voice answered, "If this isn't about my Alpha, then I suggest you turn around and climb right back in that monstrosity on wheels before I decide to carry out my threat, Sam."

Sam smirked, "That's exactly what I want you to do." Behind him, he heard a rapid intake of air from his brother.

For a brief moment, Crowley was stunned, "Come again, mate?"

"You heard me. He," Sam jerked a thumb in Dean's direction, "Is done working for you. Since we both know you're a man…err, demon of your word, then obviously you're next step is going to be tossing me back in the hot box."

Dean shook himself free of the shock that froze him when he heard his brother's intensions, "Sam, what…"

"Dean, you don't want to be here. You don't want to be hunting; you don't want to be away from Lisa; and you certainly don't want me around. You've made that very clear over the past couple of weeks.

"I might not have the emotional caring half of Sam, but I wasn't lying when I said I still have all the memories. Sam's big brother, the person who sold his soul just to bring Sam back to life – that big brother wouldn't have a second thought about working for a demon if it meant saving his brother from daily torment. But you do. Sam's big brother would have actually had to think twice about capturing the Alpha versus saving the town. He'd have saved the town, but it would have been a struggle. It wasn't for you. I'm not really sure you care too much about Sam – souled or otherwise – anymore. You actually seemed disappointed to find out I was back from hell. Although given how things went down that year and a half before Stull, I can't say I'm really surprised. How upset were you that your brother jumped in the hole, Dean? How long were you waiting for the right time to fix the mistake you made in Cold Oak?"

"I never said Cold Oak was a mistake!" Dean almost shouted.

"You didn't have to. I…Sam…whoever saw it in your eyes as soon as you started remembering. You were so easy to read it was painful. I kept expecting you to ask Cas to time travel you back to that night so you could stop yourself from making the deal.

"I'm here now aren't I?" Dean huffed, "That's gotta count for something."

"Because Lisa kicked you out," Sam said bluntly. "Be honest, Dean. If it wasn't for what happened when you were a vamp, you'd have dumped me and headed back to her a long time ago."

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but couldn't. Truth of the matter was, Sam was right. He'd thought about heading back to Lisa's and begging her to take him back for weeks. The only thing stopping him was concern about Crowley; he didn't want the demon – or one of his minions – dropping by during breakfast or using Lisa and Ben as leverage. They had already been endangered once because he wasn't careful; he wasn't going to put them in harms way again.

There was a brief flash of something in Sam's eyes as Dean's silence confirmed his statement.

"Sam, I…"

Sam held up a hand, cutting his brother short, "No feelings, remember? You can't hurt me. But I didn't ask for this; I didn't expect to come back at all, and I am sorry I ruined your life, again. Go back to Lisa; I'll make sure he," Sam tossed a look over his shoulder at the crossroads king, "promises to leave you alone."

Dean was still shocked and rapidly moving between fury and fear. "Why, Sam?" He spat out angrily, giving it free reign, "Don't pretend this is for me; you'd actually have to feel something to willingly give a rat's ass about anyone other then yourself."

Sam shrugged, "I still have memories. I remember that I would have done anything for you, even this. And maybe I am doing it for me. I'm tired of wondering when you're going to try to say enough and try to kill me; tired of being treated like an errant dog. I know you won't just leave, not when I might be a danger to others, so I'm giving us both an out. You won't have to worry about your obviously evil little brother, and I won't have to worry about getting my soul back. It's a win-win, Dean."

Before his brother could say anything else, Sam turned and walked back towards a still stunned Crowley. "Let's do this thing," he smirked.

Crowley hesitated for a second before shrugging his shoulders, "It's your funeral, mate." He grabbed Sam shoulder and both disappeared in a flash of red light, leaving nothing behind but an echo of a scream.

Dean stood there, shock threatening to overwhelm him. His baby brother – well, half his baby brother – had just willingly gone to hell a second time. And this time it wasn't to save the world, or even to save a life. This time it was because he thought it was what Dean wanted. He'd sometimes wondered, when things were at their worst, exactly how far he could push Sam. Even before Stull, he thrown things at his brother – let him have it with both barrels – just to see if Sam would really stick it out. The only time he'd ever pushed too far was when he'd called Sam a monster. That had led to the mother of all fights, and Sam walking out the door. Even their father's ultimatum "If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back" wasn't enough to stop him. But Sam had come back; firmly chastised and with his tail between his legs, but he'd come back. Dean had never told him, but he'd grudgingly respected Sam's determination to fix things. Anyone else would have probably eaten their gun at the earliest opportunity, but Sam saw that as the cowards wawy out. Even throwing the amulet out – knowing that his brother thought Dean was throwing _him_ out – wasn't enough to make Sam walk away. But this time…this time Sam wasn't going to play second fiddle; wasn't going to listen to his brother's incessant barbs whether they hurt or not; wasn't going to stand by and be Dean's punching bag. So instead, he made his own destiny; chose the option available whether he liked the outcome or not, and willingly walked through the door.

Dean stared at the patch of ground Sam had been standing on before he disappeared and swallowed hard, feeling bile rise in the back of his throat. Once he was convinced his stomach was going to stay put, he turned and ran for the car. He threw it into drive and roared onto the road, headed for a salvage yard in South Dakota. Bobby would know what to do and between the two of them they'd bring Sam back, hopefully with his soul, but Dean would take however much of his brother he could get, and this time he'd be grateful for it.

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A/N - Ok, before anyone jumps down my throat, I love Dean, and I do think he cares for his brother. This fic is what I came up with after having issues with how he's treating Sam (and has treated Sam in the past). I know Sam's souless and needs a watchdog, but does that really mean Dean needs to say every mean thing that comes into his head?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N - So, I have absolutely no excuse for not getting this up sooner. I had originally intended chapter one as a one-shot, but a lot of people begged for more, so here you go. Sorry, no Sam in this chapter, but I have a third chapter - more of an epilogue - planned that will hopefully be up sometime next week and Sam will be in that chapter.

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_Sam's in Hell, Sam's in Hell, Sam's in Hell, gotta get him out, gotta get him out, Sam's in Hell_. The never-ending litany ran through Dean's head as he poured over a mound of books in Bobby's library. He'd been holed up here for the past month, ever since Sam decided he'd be better off in the Cage then with Dean. After Sam disappeared with Crowley, Dean had burned rubber to Bobby's house where he'd dived headfirst into research. Although never his forte, he'd gotten better at research after the Apocalypse started, first because he and Sam had split up and he'd been forced to, and, after they got back together, he did it to double-check Sam's findings. It had helped once or twice, but usually he ended up with the same conclusion Sam had.

Now, though, there didn't seem to be an answer to be found anywhere. Bobby himself – the man who could find an answer to every problem – had begun hinting that maybe there wasn't a solution; that maybe Dean should go back to Lisa's. It was what Sam had wanted for him, and he'd been happy there. Dean knew she'd take him back, once she knew Sam was out of the picture and unlikely to return, but he couldn't; not this time.

He cared about Lisa and Ben and owed them both more then he could possibly repay, but the truth of the matter was, he didn't love her; never had. He realized now that he'd been in love with what she represented – a wife and kids; the safe, normal life that had been ripped from him the night of the fire. There was a part of him that still ached for that dream, but he knew he wouldn't find it with Lisa, especially not after what she'd said about Sam. Sure, any woman probably would have been pissed at being dropped like a hot potato so he could chase his younger brother _even though she was the one who'd told him to go in the first place_, but nothing – NOTHING – gave her the right to blame Sam for the crap in Dean's life. Yeah, he'd contributed, and Dean had been willing to lay a lot of the junk from the last few years on Sam's shoulders, whether it belonged there or not, but Sam wasn't the only one who screwed up, and Dean would never be better off without him.

Not finding anything in the book he'd been studying, Dean slammed it shut with a curse, shoving it roughly to the side. He scrubbed his face with both hands, wishing – not for the first time – that he'd actually done a tenth of the research he'd claimed to do during that year with Lisa and Ben. He'd done a little; looked over the books Sam had left in the back of the Impala; and, in one of his drunker moments, considered using the rings to unlock the Cage. He meant to do more, but time kept getting away from him. After Stull, Dean had headed for Lisa's with the intention of doing whatever he could to get his little brother back. It would have been easier at Bobby's, but he'd promised to go to Lisa, and after giving Sam nothing but crap about breaking his dying promise to Dean, there was nothing left to do. His first couple weeks with them had been spent renewing his friendship with Jack, Jim and Jose; he didn't really remember much. According to Lisa, he'd spent most of the time on the bathroom floor, alternating between reminiscing, promising Sam he'd fix everything, and throwing up. That phase probably would have lasted a lot longer if Lisa hadn't dumped his bottles in the trash one day and told him he could either get sober or get out. He spent the next month or so drying out and apologizing almost every time he saw Lisa or Ben. He started helping around the house, making breakfast, mowing the lawn, even vacuuming and washing windows. The job came next and before he knew it, Ben was out of school for the summer, and Sam had been gone for a year.

'Dean," Bobby's voice startled him out of his thoughts. The gruff hunter was standing in the doorway with a plate of sandwiches and a beer. "It's past lunchtime, and I'm willin' to bet you haven't touched a bite since the breakfast I forced down your throat."

Dean shrugged and gave the man a half-hearted grin, "Not really hungry."

Bobby snorted, "Hungry or not, even Winchesters have to eat sometimes. Now get your ass outta that chair and into the living room. And after that," he continued, deliberately cutting off Dean's refusal, "you're going outside for a while. You've probably forgotten what fresh air smells like, and if you get any paler, people are gonna think a spirit's moved in."

"I…I can't, Bobby." Dean gestured to the piles of books. "There has to be _something_. There just _has_ to be. I can't leave him down there; not this time."

Bobby sighed, and not for the first time wished he'd locked the door and hidden in the panic room the day John Winchester first showed up. But he hadn't and somewhere along the way John's boys had become his boys.

"Dean, we've spent the last month looking. Sometimes there aren't answers. Sam knew what he was doing and what he was sacrificing. He did it for you, so you would have a chance to be happy. He knew you were tired, and after your little stunt with Michael, he was terrified of losing you. This, what you're doing right now? Exactly what he didn't want you doing.

If you want to honor Sam's sacrifice, then make it worthwhile. Go back to Lisa and marry her; help her raise her son and maybe even have a few of your own; grow old knowing your neighbors and die in a place you've actually lived for longer then two months."

Seeing Dean's head bowed, trying to hold in the emotions he hated showing, Bobby sighed. "Boy, come with me; I've got something for you," he called over his shoulder as he headed back to the kitchen. Placing the untouched plate and bottle back on the table, he waited until he heard Dean coming before running up the stairs to grab a letter, a book, and a small package out of his nightstand. Tucking the book under his arm, Bobby hesitated for a moment, nervously toying with the box and letter.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he whispered, unconsciously clenching the letter, threatening to crumple it. He'd let Sam down; he knew that much, and the items he'd just pulled from the nightstand were evidence.

As he reentered the kitchen, Bobby was glad to see Dean actually eating, even if it wasn't with his normal gusto. Dean looked up as he came in, pausing mid-chew to eye the objects in Bobby's hands. He tossed his head and grunted around the mouthful of sandwich, Dean-speak for "What's that".

"This…uh…this is from your…uh…your brother," shocked by his own nervousness, Bobby swallowed, "from…you know…_before_."

"Before?" Dean echoed, confusion evident for a moment before comprehension dawned, "You mean before Stull?"

Bobby nodded, "He gave these to me right before we left for Detroit. Asked me to give them to you."

Dean nodded absently, staring at his brother's gifts as Bobby set them on the table in front of him. Tentatively, he reached out and grabbed the letter. The room seemed to disappear around him, leaving nothing but himself and the three small items Sam had left him. Swallowing hard, he ripped the envelope open and pulled out a single sheet of notebook paper.

_Dean,_

_If you're reading this, then I guess we won. And I'm sorry; not for doing it, but because I know right now you're probably hurting, and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you again. If Winchesters had anything but bad luck, I'd hope for the best – that maybe you wouldn't miss me this time round, that maybe you'd be happy to wash your hands of me. But who am I kidding – no matter what I did or how hard I pushed, you'd never forget about me or even be happy I was dead. _

_We haven't talked about it yet, but I'm going to ask you to go to Lisa's. You won't want to, but she'll give you direction, purpose, and, if you let her, happiness. You deserve to be happy, Dean. You've given up so much, and maybe if I'd been a little less self-centered as a kid, then you wouldn't have had to wait so long, but now it's your turn. I want you to have a house with a white picket fence, to eat all the homemade pie you want, to make love to the same woman and to be surrounded by little Deans._

_Dean, I need you to know – and if I wasn't such a coward, I would have told you in person – if by some miracle I make it out of the pit, I'm staying as far away from you as humanly possible. PLEASE, PLEASE don't think this means I don't love you or that Zachariah was right and I just want to be away from you, because that's the last thing on earth I want. I'm doing this to protect you, big brother. We both know evil's been dogging my steps since I was six months old; it's taken everyone I've ever cared about, and I won't risk it touching you again. It's my turn to protect you. Please let me do this for you. _

_I'd apologize again for trusting Ruby, but I knew you forgave me the minute you agreed to this crazy scheme. Only a fool would let a man he didn't trust take on the Devil, and you're anything but a fool. I _am_ sorry about heaven – or whatever that was. I'm sorry someone used my memories against you, because, Dean, my idea of heaven has never been about getting away from you, and I'm sorry if I've let you think it is. I'm especially sorry for getting you in trouble with Dad when I ran away. _

_Bobby's back, so I'd better wrap this up. Thank you, Dean, for everything. I love you big brother._

_Sammy_

Dean stared at the letter, oblivious to the silent tears streaming down his cheeks. He folded the letter back up and slipped it into his wallet. Looking back at the table, the next thing he saw was the leather bound book that he now recognized as Sam's journal. Unlike their dad's monster manual of a journal, Sam's chronicled their lives. Dean had read it when he was standing guard over his brother's corpse in Cold Oak. He'd looked for it after Stull, but couldn't find it, figuring Sam had destroyed it somewhere along the way. He thumbed through the pages, skimming entries, fighting to swallow the lump in his throat whenever he found a page blistered by tears. Wanting privacy before he gave the book an in depth review, he reluctantly set it aside, and turned his attention to the small box. It wasn't wrapped, but it had twine holding it closed. A knife was pressed into Dean's hand before he even thought to ask for one, and he made quick work of the twine., tossing it and the box lid on the floor There was a folded note sitting on top of a mound of tissue paper.

_I thought you might want this back. If you don't, I understand but please don't throw it away again. Give it to Bobby instead; I'm sure he can find a good use for it._

Dean's breath caught in his throat. _It can't be_. His fingers seemed to move of their own accord, scrabbling through the tissue paper until they closed around a familiar metal object.

Bobby smiled grimly as Dean held it, the bronze amulet glinting. "I figured that's what it was. We must have passed through whatever town you, umm, _lost_ it in on our way back from dealing with the virus shipments. We'd stopped at Sam's request and then he disappeared for about 20 minutes while I was gassing up the truck. All he'd say when he got back was that he needed to set things right."

Dean looped the cord around his neck, swallowing back the tears as the familiar weight settled on his chest. Bobby's words, previously ignored, suddenly clicked.

Dean fixed his surrogate father with a sharp look. "You said Sam gave these to you before Stull; why didn't you given them to me before I left?"

Bobby twisted his battered cap around in his hands, looking at the table rather then Dean. They sat in silence; Dean's glare deepening by the second. Finally, Bobby shrugged, "I was scared."

"Scared?" Dean echoed in disbelief. "Of what?"

"You, damn it!" Bobby shouted, slamming his hands down on the table. "You were going to Lisa's, and I was worried that if I gave it to you…"

"You didn't think I'd leave," Dean finished.

"I wasn't going to make the same mistake with you I made with your brother." He slumped back in his chair, energy spent. "After we buried you, I dragged Sam back here, forced some dinner into him and then disappeared into a bottle. When I surfaced a few weeks later, Sam was who knows where doing who knows what. When I couldn't get a hold of him, I made dumb idea that he'd be ok…just needed time and space to get his head together. Well, we all know how well that worked out," he snorted. "I wasn't going to let that happen to you, son. No more Winchesters were going to self-destruct on my watch."

Dean shoved his chair back and took a deep breath, trying to bury the anger, "I get it Bobby; I really do. I know you were trying to help."

'Where are you going, boy?"

Dean stood up, willing his shaky legs to hold him. "I need some time to absorb," he threw his arm out in a giant sweeping motion, "all this."

Felling Bobby's eyes on him, Dean hurried out the backdoor and into the labyrinth that was Singer Salvage. His head was swimming and he didn't really pay attention to where he was going until he found himself at the small pond that bordered one side of the junkyard. When they were kids, this was Sam's spot – he'd sit out here for hours with a book or come here to sulk after a fight with John. Dean settled himself on the grassy bank, back against a tree. He unconsciously gripped the amulet as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes…

"Dean"

He jerked back in shock, cracking his head on the tree. Furiously blinking the stars away, he instinctively reached for his gun only to come up empty. _Crap_. Mentally kicking himself for leaving without a weapon, Dean braced himself and launched off the ground swinging, only to find his fist held in a grip of iron and a pair of blue expressionless eyes staring at him.

"Jees, Cas," Dean huffed, "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

Cas tilted his head in confusion, "Why would I want to do that?"

Dean stared at him for a second before brushing the comment off, "Never mind; now, want to tell me why you're here? I'm sure you didn't come all this way just to make sure I didn't take a nap. Let me guess, you've lost something important and want me to find it? Well, sorry, can't help you; I'm a little busy with my own problems." He turned around and stalked away. He hadn't meant to sound so bitter, but he was tired of being treated like a well-trained dog – do this, do that, sit in the corner when we don't need you.

'Dean, I might have some information on Sam."

Dean spun around so fast, he had to grab the tree to keep from falling over. "Information?"

"A loophole, if you will. Do you still have the rings?"

Dean nodded.

"Good. You need to contact Death; he might be able to help you."

"Why would Death help me?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Because Sam isn't dead, not technically, therefore his being in Hell goes against the natural order. Death is very protective of his domain and may be persuaded to help bring Sam back."

Dean leaned against the tree, absorbing this new information. After a minute, he looked at Cas, "Why?"

"I just told you why, Dean," Cas replied, looking at Dean with concern, "Did you injure yourself when you hit your head?"

"No, no," Dean waved him off, "My head's fine. I meant, why are you helping me? Don't you have something more important to be doing, some battle to be fighting?"

Cas sighed, "Dean, my duties in heaven don't meant I don't care about you and Sam. I've been looking for a way to help him since you told me he went back to Hell; I just didn't have any answers before now. Besides, I owe Sam a debt."

Dean quirked an eyebrow, shocked by the remorse on the angel's face "What debt? I mean besides him saving the world and all that."

Cas shifted uneasily, and Dean realized he had never seen his friend look that uncomfortable. "Cas," he asked, making sure to keep his voice steady, "What happened between you and Sam?"

Cas looked everywhere but at Dean, finally settling on staring at his shoes before answering reluctantly, "I followed orders…Sam was supposed to kill Lilith…I…"

"He let Sam out of the panic room," Bobby finished. He followed Dean out, worried about him, knowing full well that an upset Winchester was a dangerous Winchester. He found Dean about the same time Cas did, and had been content to be an unobserved bystander until now.

"He…what?" Dean's head whipped back and forth between Bobby and Cas.

"Bobby is correct," Cas nodded sadly, looking at the grizzled hunter, "How long have you known?"

"Pretty much since it happened, although it was Sam who figured it out. A few weeks after he opened the box, Sam asked about pulling sigils in the panic room to keep out angels. I wanted to know why, and he explained. We didn't end up using them because by then you were working with Dean, and Sam figured it would be better if you were able to use the room too. Besides, he didn't want to explain to Dean why the panic room was angel-proof all of a sudden."

Cas suddenly found himself with his back to the tree, staring straight into a pair of hard green eyes. "You bastard," Dean ground out, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage, "You blamed him for everything. You sat there and fingered him knowing all along that you were as much to blame as either of us. And I went along with you! I trusted you and didn't trust him and all along he knew…" He felt hands pulling on his shoulders and he reluctantly loosed his hold on the angel.

"Dean," Bobby's voice was soothing, "What's done is done. Dwelling on it won't help your brother, and hurting Cas definitely won't."

Dean pulled himself from Bobby's grip, knowing the older man was right. They had a lead on Sam and that needed to be his focus. Everything else could wait. Right now he had to make an appointment with Death.

"Bobby, do you have the number of that doctor who patched Dad up sometimes? You know, the crazy one who kind of looked like Freddie Krueger?"


	3. Chapter 3

A/N - Here it is! I'm sorry it's later then I promised, but I really wanted to get it up before school starts again. Thanks so much for everyone who reviewed, put it on alert or made it a favorite. I hope y'all enjoy the last chapter!

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_2 weeks later_

Dean leaned his head against the fridge, almost moaning as the cool metal soothed his aching head. The past two weeks had gone by in a blur, yet it seemed like years had passed since that day by the pond. Since then he'd been clinically killed by a crazy ex-doctor friend of his dad, spoken with Death, agreed to be Death for a day, screwed that up royally, but somehow or another still walked away with the prize – a fully re-souled Sammy, complete with a Hell memory block courtesy of Death. It had been a week since Death popped in, unceremoniously depositing an unconscious Sam on the couch. Dean – who'd been half drunk and planning to take up residence in Bobby's liquor cabinet – had nearly given himself a concussion scrambling across the room to his brother.

Sam had spent the first seventy-two hours pretty much dead to the world, waking up long enough to use the bathroom and swallow some water before passing out again. For some reason, whatever Death had done to bring him back had left him weak as a kitten, which was why, even now, he still found it difficult to be up for more then a few hours at a time, and he hadn't been out of the bedroom, except to answer nature's call. Dean had promised him the day before that, if he behaved, they'd see about moving him to the couch. Unfortunately, Sam had had enough of his questions being put off and, using all powers of persuasion at his disposal, had convinced Dean he was ready to know what on earth happened to him. Not ready for Sam to know the truth, Dean had told him, basically, that Crowley had brought him back missing parts, he'd come to Dean for help and Death had put his soul back as a thank you for taking care of Lucifer. He was a little surprised when Sam accepted that, no questions asked, but decided now was definitely _not_ the time to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, he'd been more then a little distracted by the small voice in his head that insisted on pointing out the irony of the situation – he'd berated Sam time and again for the lies he'd told when Dean came back from Hell, and here was Dean weaving his own particular brand of half-truths.

He'd also suppressed the guilt at leaving out his own less then stellar behavior, but figured Sam didn't need to know that his brother had belittled, maligned and verbally abused him whenever he felt like it. And he certainly didn't need to know that Dean beat the crap out of him. Although given how things had been for the past few years, it probably wouldn't surprise Sam too much.

Dean sighed and mournfully examined his fists. He wasn't sure when he decided that knuckles to the face was an acceptable form of anger management. His Dad was never like that; sure, he and Sam had gotten their fair share of spankings as kids, but John Winchester dealt with his anger like Sam did – he'd shout and scream and then either disappear into his own world or leave. The only real difference between Sam and John is that Sam would go for a walk, and John would go to the nearest bar, drink himself practically unconscious and make it home in time to pass out on the couch, but even through the alcohol their dad had never, never raised a hand to either of them in anger. He'd come close twice, the first after he found out Sam had run off, but had regained control before hitting Dean, and John had spent the next week making it up to him, Winchester-style. The second time was during the fight the night Sam left for Stanford. Unfortunately, the aborted punch had been followed by the ultimatum, and Sam's hasty departure, so there had never been a chance for John to make up for that one.

"Dean."

The shaky voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he dashed out of the kitchen to see Sam half way down the stairs, clinging to the railing for dear life.

"What do you think you're doing?" Dean barked, as he wrapped an arm around his brother's waist and gently eased him down the stairs.

"You promised…couch today…go crazy…stay in the bedroom," Sam gasped out, trying desperately to hold himself upright.

Sam's stubbornness gave out just as they reached the living room, and he collapsed onto the waiting sofa. To Dean surprise, Sam didn't pass out, choosing instead to stare at him with the same quizzical look he'd worn as a kid when he was trying to sort something out.

"What was he like?"

"Who, Sam?" Dean asked, scooting his chair a little closer.

"The other me."

"Oh…um," Dean struggled to come up with a description that wouldn't tip Sam off, "Well, he was a good hunter, driven, single-minded until the job was done, but he also knew how to kick back and unwind faster then anyone I've ever met, including yours truly."

He almost sighed in relief as Sam seemed to accept his answer. They sat like that for the next few minutes until Sam broke the silence, his voice so soft Dean had to lean closer to hear him.

"Why didn't you like him?"

"Huh?" was his eloquent reply.

"The me who came back from Hell," Sam answered, focusing his attention on the worn hem of his sleep pants. 'Why didn't you like him? I mean, he sounds like what you wanted."

"Huh?" Dean was starting to wonder if Sam's brain was as intact as he thought. "What are you talking about, Sam? Like what I wanted when? And what makes you think I didn't like him?"

Sam shrugged, still refusing to look at his brother, "If you liked him, you wouldn't have bothered bringing me back. And yeah, a guy who shoots first, asks questions never, and then hits a bar for beer and booty is exactly what you wanted me to be – Dad too, minus the booty part."

Dean stared at Sam, mouth opening and closing, words refusing to form as his brother's statement sunk in, and he realized how true it was. Ever since Sam was initiated into the family business, John – and by extension, Dean – had wanted exactly that. There wasn't time for second opinions or sympathy for the monster; the goal was always to get in and out as quickly as possible, but Sam had never rolled that way. He'd refused to play the game from the get go, and that had led to the ever escalating battle of wills with their father that culminated in Sam leaving for college. For one brief moment, Dean imagined what life would have been like if Sam had been more like RoboSam growing up. The thought chilled him, and he silently mouthed a prayer of thanks to whoever was listening that he and John hadn't gotten their wish.

Sam wasn't looking at him, but he could still feel the weight of the question and knew he couldn't put this one off, not if he wanted to salvage their battered brotherhood.

"No, Sam, I didn't like him. He was efficient, but cold, uncaring. It wasn't about the victims or saving people; it was just another monster in the never-ending parade of evil. There was no compassion, or even common sense sometimes. Yeah, he knew the quickest way to take down a wendigo or a skinwalker, but he couldn't interview or talk to witnesses without making them wet themselves. And, more importantly, Sammy, he wasn't you." Dean reached over and, cupped Sam's chin, gently forcing his brother to look at him. "I'm only going to say this once so pay attention. I wanted you, Sam, not Arnold Schwarzenegger in a Sammy suit. He wasn't my little brother, and he never could be. It took me long enough to realize it, but I'd rather have an emo, pain-in-my-ass, bleeding heart Sammy then the world's best hunter, and if you tell anyone I said that, you'd better watch your back because next time I won't stop at Nair in your shampoo. Got it?"

Sam smiled and nodded, "Yeah."

"Good," Dean smiled softly in return, "Now get some sleep." Waiting until he was sure Sam's eyes were closed, he eased out of the chair, suddenly hungry for the first time in months.

He paused at the doorway, looking back at his sleeping baby brother. Today had been a first step – a good first step – but they both still had a lot to work through. Too much had happened to simply call a do-over, but he realized as he watched Sam sleep – he _wanted _this. He wanted to work through whatever crap they had because they finally had a chance to start fresh, leave the anger and distrust, torture and demon blood, angels and demon – all that – in the past and move forward. Dean was more then ready for it. It was time to get back to being _SamNDean_, the Winchester brothers, back and better then ever, just like it was meant to be.


End file.
